


Bitter and Sweet - Gobblepot Week

by GhostOfDorothyStreet



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Chocolate, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Jim fretting, M/M, Minor appearances by the rogues, Near Death Experiences, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-18 00:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostOfDorothyStreet/pseuds/GhostOfDorothyStreet
Summary: A collection of snippets for Gobblepot Week 2018 - Valentine's Day Theme





	1. Day One - Chocolate Kisses

Jim shifted in his seat, the fabric of his suit rustling against the velvet upholstery of the gilded chair. Coming to Penguin for favours was stressful under any circumstances. It always left him with a flutter in his stomach, which he usually chose to attribute to guilt over lowering himself so much. To his inner conflict over breaking his own moral codes.

But on this particular occasion, there was no point in pretending that his discomfort was caused by anything dignified or moral.

Nope, tonight he was just unreasonably distracted by the fact that Penguin was steadily working his way through a bowl of chocolate kisses while they talked.

He’d offered Jim one when he first walked into his office – _“Victor left them. He’s been leaving them everywhere lately actually, something to do with Valentines Day coming up. I’ve decided not to question where he’s getting so many of them from…”_ – and while Jim turned the offer down, that hadn’t stopped Penguin from idly snacking on them himself throughout the whole conversation.

Jim wished that the reason he was distracted was because of something a little more innocent and less incriminating, like the crinkling of the silver foil, or that Penguin kept talking with his mouth full or something – he didn’t, probably down to whatever old-world manners his late mother had instilled in him – but that wasn’t it at all. It wasn’t annoyance of disgust that had him losing track of his train of thought every few moments.

It was watching Penguin’s mouth close around each one of the little chocolates. The almost dainty way he brought his long pale fingers to his mouth, licked traces of chocolate from his lower lip. Tiny little humming sounds of pleasure as the chocolates melted in his mouth. It was driving Jim mad, and making him lick his own lips unconsciously.

“Detective Gordon?”

Jim saw the words more than heard them, and flushed with embarrassment at having been caught staring.

“Hmm? Yeah,” he sniffed, folded his arms in an attempt to look stern, “That’s uh, good. All good.” It was a pretty pathetic bluff, but better than admitting that he’d lost track of what Penguin was actually saying. He’d been offering information, Jim knew that much. He’d get whatever it was in writing and it wouldn’t matter.

Penguin naturally saw right through him, the irritatingly sharp bastard, and raised a smug eyebrow at him. Mercifully he didn’t say anything, and instead made a note on a sheet of paper.

“Excellent. I’ll have those names sent to the station by the morning,” Penguin, stood buttoning his jacket, “Will that be all then?”

Jim cleared his throat, getting to his feet himself, highly conscious of a tightness in his trousers that he hoped was covered by his jacket.

“Yeah, that’ll be all,” he said, voice gruff, “I owe you one.”

Penguin tilted his head, that indulgent little smile of his that Jim recognised from most of their previous dealings. The guy always seemed to come out on top, though Jim kicked himself a little for the images that bit of mental phrasing conjured up.

“As usual then,” rather than holding out his hand for a handshake, Penguin held out the bowl of chocolates once more, “Are you sure I can’t tempt you?”

Jim nearly choked on air.

He reached out and plucked a chocolate from the bowl, nodding silently before fleeing the room. He attempted to make it look like a purposeful stride, but it was definitely fleeing.

Back in his car, Jim unwrapped the tiny candy and let it dissolve on his tongue, letting himself have a brief moment to imagine that same taste on Oswald’s lips.


	2. Day 3 - Valentine's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (apparently these are coming to me somewhat out of order...)

Jim Gordon had plenty of strengths. He was good at his job – as much as he could still say that while sharing his bed with a criminal; he was a good shot; he was a decent enough cook if he limited himself to things that could be made in one pot; he’d learned to play guitar in college…

But there were plenty of things that he fully acknowledged he was utterly terrible at. Unfortunately, one of those things was Valentine’s day.

Throughout his entire relationship history, such as it was, he’d always managed to miss the mark somehow when it game to Valentine’s day. He’d bought his high school girlfriend a box of chocolates and roses, only for her to sneer at him and call him a walking cliché, spouting what sounded suspiciously like a memorised speech about commercialisation and fake holidays created by greeting card companies. Barbara had had exacting standards, and though she’d never been more than passive aggressive about it, his efforts had obviously never quite been up to scratch – the wrong restaurant, last season’s jewellery, tacky flowers. Lee at least had been nice about it, but after insisting that she didn’t expect anything from him, that she knew he was busy, she had also been visibly deeply disappointed when he didn’t plan anything.

Now he was with Oswald, and had been suffering from varying degrees of anxiety about the whole thing for weeks.

This thing between them was still so new, so tenuous. There’d been so much hurt on both sides, and a great deal of it was Jim’s own fault, which he’d been doing his best to make up for. It was funny in a way, how all those misguided attempts at bringing justice to Gotham had done nothing but make things worse, for the city and for Jim, but giving into his feelings for a mob boss and trying to build a new life with him was doing him nothing but good. He felt like he’d come up for air after years spent trapped underwater.

However, for all that he’d done his utmost to make amends, and for all that Oswald was far too forgiving when it came to love, Jim hadn’t shaken all the guilt that he felt for how he’d treated Oswald over the years. He knew that if he hurt Oswald again, and Oswald chose to turn against him, to leave him cold and alone once more, he would be entirely justified in doing so, and the thought terrified him. Somehow it was more frightening than any more violent retribution the man might take, despite the warnings Harvey had given him when they’d got together.

_“You’re dating a guy you’ve seen murder people with your own two eyes, and you’re more worried about him dumping you than stabbing you?”_

Jim had rolled his eyes and brushed off the comment, sure that anything he said about stab wounds healing better than emotional ones would earn him mockery for the rest of the decade.

He’d also brushed off Harvey’s suggestions about what to get Oswald for Valentine’s day, which had all either been filthy or scary or both. Jim could only assume that his partner’s past relationship with Fish Mooney had given him some weird ideas about dating criminals…

_“You could always get him a knife, he likes those, right? Switchblade with a jewelled handle or something, keep it classy.”_

On the morning of Valentine’s day itself, Jim woke first to find Oswald sleeping soundly next to him. He watched him for a moment, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way the soft glow of the February sunlight played on his pale skin. Moments like that made him kick himself for wasting so much time, for lying to himself about how ethereally beautiful Oswald was…

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Oswald’s forehead, smiling at the way his nose scrunched up as he stirred awake.

“Jim?” Oswald blinked up at him, eyes soft and puzzled.

“Hey, you,” Jim whispered, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he stroked Oswald’s hair back from his forehead. He was still getting used to this, waking up together, seeing Oswald mussed and sleepy and soft, “Happy Valentine’s day.”

Oswald’s forehead creased in confusion for a moment, and Jim worried that he’d managed yet again to misjudge the situation on this ridiculous holiday.

“I’ve booked us a meal for tonight, at that new French place downtown. Reservations are at seven,” he said, trying to sound more sure of himself than he was. He bit his lip and reached over to the bedside cabinet, pulling out a small box. “I’m not as good with this stuff as you are but…”

He trailed off, and handed the box to Oswald, expression hopeful and more than a little pleading. As Oswald opened it, his mouth dropped open, and he turned to Jim with an astonished smile. Jim felt his stomach flip over – it was just a tie pin, found in an antiques store and set with silver and amethyst, but Oswald was looking at him like it was the most wonderful thing he’d ever received.

He barely had time to process the relief before he found himself tackled back against the pillows, Oswald’s face pressed into his chest and surprisingly strong, lean arms wrapped tight around his middle. He let out a breathless laugh and hugged him back, kissing the top of his head.

“You like it then?”

“Like it?” Oswald’s voice was muffled by Jim’s t-shirt until he looked up at him, pale aqua eyes shining, “Jim, it’s perfect… No one has ever done anything like this for me, not without it being some kind of cruel joke.” He leaned up and kissed Jim firmly, grinning delightedly against his lips.

As Jim kissed him back, he felt the tension he’d been carrying for weeks melt out of his shoulders. He’d known that being with Oswald was a fresh start, a chance for change, and just maybe this little victory was a sign of better things to come.


	3. Day Two - Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (like I said, out of order...)

Down at the dockland warehouse, the moment everything goes wrong, the gunshot comes between heartbeats.

 

_Thump_

 

When the bullet hits his chest, Jim barely feels it at first. You don’t just fall down, it takes a moment – your brain needs to know you’ve been shot before your body decides what to do, like when you’re a little kid and you don’t cry over your skinned knee until an adult comes to fret over you.

But when the pain comes it comes hard, and he feels his knees hit the ground.

 

_Thump_

 

Time slows down. A horrified cry reaches his ears from across the warehouse, then a shout of pain, a choking gurgling sound.

The man who shot him, some nameless thug, lies on the floor, a pool of blood spreading from a gash in his neck, eyes glassy.

 

_Thump_

 

“Jim! No no no, Jim, stay with me, you can’t do this to me, not now…”

Oswald has blood on his hands and on his face. It’s his natural state – blood on pale skin, red, white, black as ebony. Jim’s own Snow White. He almost smiles, but Oswald doesn’t smile.

 

_Thump_

 

Oswald looks scared. Jim’s not seen him scared in a long time.

He’s seen him look sad though. And hurt. And angry.

He doesn’t mind the anger. There’s fire in that. He’d never admitted to himself how much he likes it, that fierceness and strength. No one pushes him like Oswald does. No one makes him feel alive like him.

 

_Thump_

 

Alive for how long though.

This doesn’t feel like any of the other times he’s been shot.

 

_Thump_

 

His fingers grasp Oswald’s jacket. He wants to make that scared look go away. His fingers won’t cooperate.

“I’m sorry…”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Oswald…”

“No, _no,_ you do _not_ get to say that to me,” pressure on his chest, an arm around his back, holding him, “You are not giving me a deathbed apology and I will not lose you now.”

 

_Thump_

 

There’s that anger again. Better than the fear. Better than sad looks in the precinct, clutching an envelope or gazing through bars. Better than pain and hurt across the Arkham courtyard.

But he can’t see it for long, darkness creeps in at the edge of his vision. Seeping cold. His hand drops to his side, numb.

He lets his head fall against Oswald's chest, feels a thrumming under his cheek, until he can't feel his face either. He tries to speak again, but his lips won't move.

"I'm..."

 

_Thump…_

 

_***_

 

Jim wakes up to the sound of beeping and the smell of antiseptic. His tongue feels like sawdust, his limbs heavy and his head throbbing. He squints against bright fluorescent light, and when he tries to sit up, a pain in his chest reminds him of what happened.

The warehouse, a standoff gone wrong. Stupidly going in without the proper backup, without a vest. The bullet in his chest, shock, pain, cold. Oswald rushing to his aid as he lay bleeding on the floor…

He brings his hand to his chest, brushing over his bandages and wincing with a sharp intake of breath.

“Jim?”

He turns his head to see Oswald sat in the armchair next to his bed. His face is more pale and drawn than usual, his clothes and hair rumpled, eyes red rimmed.

“Oswald…” he tries to sit up again, more slowly this time, “Are… are you okay?”

Oswald gives an astonished gasp of laughter.

“Are you seriously asking me that right now?” he gestures expansively at Jim’s whole being, at the bandages, the IVs, the monitors.

“Well I figure I’m okay, or I wouldn’t be asking anything,” says Jim, shifting against the starched sheets, and he gives a weak smile, “I guess you’re not the only one who’s pretty hard to kill.”

Oswald swallows, brings his thumb to his lips as if to chew the nail before spotting the blood still on his skin and letting his hand drop.

“Actually, you were dead for almost three minutes. The doctors weren’t certain you would make it at all.”

The sight of the blood – Jim’s own? His would-be killer’s? - and a flash of fear and pain across Oswald’s features, send Jim’s train of thought from the warehouse drifting back into his mind. He’d thought that that was it for him, as much as he could clearly think anything. He’d thought that he would never get the chance to make up for everything he’d done to Oswald, everything he owed him. Those sorts of situations are supposed to show you what’s really important…

He owes Oswald more than ever now, and that’s okay. All he feels is relief that their time isn’t up... that there’s hope still for them both.

“But I’m here now,” he says, softly, “You saved me.”

Oswald smiles, still looking so very tired, but the pain and fear are gone from his eyes.

“Yes, you are. It seems you still inspire me to make terrible decisions, old friend”

Jim laughs, reaches out to him with a hand that shakes a little, but at least now moves as he directs it to. He brushes his fingers over Oswald’s wrist and for a few moments feels the rhythm of his pulse in time with the beeping of the heart monitor.


	4. Day six - Soulmates

It’s something that all new rogues in Gotham came to realise pretty fast. And if they didn’t figure it out by themselves, they’d have it made abundantly and explicitly clear to them soon enough, and if they were very lucky the revelation might not come at the tip of a weaponised umbrella.

If you wanted to live, then you never, ever, badmouthed Commissioner Gordon in front of the Penguin.

“I’m going to give you one chance to rephrase that, Charles.”

Charles Brown held up his hands in supplication, stammering out an apology and trying to lean away from the blade at his neck.

“I’m sorry, Mr Penguin, Sir.. I, I didn’t think…”

“That much is obvious,” Penguin twisted his wrist, the edge of the blade scraping Brown’s neck and drawing a thin trickle of blood. Behind his monocle his eyes flashed with rage. “Perhaps you should learn to keep your comments to yourself.”

Before he could do any more permanent damage to Brown, Mr Freeze laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. Brown could feel the frigid air rolling off the larger man in waves, but Penguin didn’t so much as flinch.

“Come on, Oswald. It isn’t worth the trouble right now.”

Penguin’s gaze continued to bore into Brown for a handful of agonising seconds, before he finally glanced back at his long-time ally. Freeze’s expression was unreadable, but whatever Penguin found in it seemed to convince him; at least enough to remove the blade from Brown’s neck.

“Fine. But he is on thin ice.” The unintentional pun drew a cackle from the Joker, who was perched on the bar nearby, causing Penguin to hiss venomously at him. “Oh _shut up_ , Jerome.”

Brown shrunk back and slunk away to sit on a bar stool as Penguin turned his attention back to the drafting table in the middle or the room, where the assembled group had been drawing up plans. He leaned towards Joker, who was throwing cocktail olives into the air and catching them in his mouth while the ‘grown ups’ talked.

“What was that about?” he whispered, “We’re out to get rid of the Bat but the police commissioner is off limits?”

Joker grinned, crushing an olive pit between his teeth.

“No one told you? Ozzie and Jimbo go waaaay back,” he leaned in, mockingly conspiratorial, “I’d watch your step pal, unless you wanna get fed to the little bird’s vultures.”

He giggled maniacally, and Brown slumped back against the bar, vowing to never even mention Commissioner Gordon again.

 

***

 

“So, what’s their story?”

Harvey glanced between the young officer at his side, and the balcony of the Iceberg Lounge where Jim and Penguin were deep in conversation. One of those 'special' conversations of theirs, with all the intense eye contact and getting into each other’s personal space. He snorted and took a long gulp of his drink.

“You don’t wanna know.”

The rookie - Samuels, Sampson, something like that – nodded in response, but didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. Sure enough, a few moment later he piped up again, a wheedling tone in his voice.

“It just seems kinda strange, you know. How the commissioner always wants to handle meetings with Penguin in person,” he leaned on the bar next to Harvey, who grunted and shifted away from him an inch or two, “I’ve asked a couple of the guys about it, but everyone always gets really cagey about it, you know.”

“You don’t say.”

If the guy noticed the tone in Harvey’s voice, he certainly didn’t bother taking the hint.

“Uh huh. And, I figured with you and the commissioner being so close and all, you might have some idea…”

Harvey set his glass down with a thud and held up a hand, cutting the kid off mid-sentence.

“Listen newbie, this ain’t something you want to go poking your nose into. Being honest with you, I don’t totally get it myself, but it’s the commissioner’s business, and you’d do well to stay out of it.”

Samuels or Sampson or whoever nodded again, but seemed properly chastened this time. He continued to sneak glances at the pair on the balcony – standing so close together, intimately close, hands nearly touching on the railing – but mercifully, whatever he was thinking about, he kept it to himself.

 

***

 

“My apologies Jim, but that’s as much as I can say.”

Oswald stepped past Jim, but even as he did so he was slowing down, anticipating Jim’s next move. As he felt Jim’s broad palm encircle his bicep, he halted mid-step, and smothered a smile.

“This is important, Oswald,” said Jim, his voice low and husky, right near Oswald’s ear, “I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t.”

That wasn’t entirely true. It was important, fair enough, but the fact was, Jim was always finding some sort of excuse to ask Oswald for help; to come to the Lounge to speak to him. That was the way things were between them, that was their dance, and it had been that way for years.

Close conversation, little touches that could be written off as casual, as necessary, or even as threats. Grips on each other’s arms, each other’s lapels, close enough to feel each other’s breath, their heartbeats…

Jim glanced down at Oswald’s lips, just a little flicker, and licked his own.

“I’m just asking for one favour.”

Oswald looked up at him, lips twitching.

“You ask for a lot of those, my friend.”

Their eyes met, locked together, the air between them charged, almost crackling with an energy they both knew well. There was a line between them, invisible but present, and at any moment one or the other could choose to step back from it and put distance between them…

Or to step forward, to cross that line and never move back.

Jim swallowed, and his hand trailed gently down from Oswald’s bicep to his elbow, bracing there against the temptation to move down and grasp his hand.

“I’ll owe you,” he murmured, their faces scant inches apart.

Oswald smiled then, partly triumphant, partly something else.

“Another favour for old times’ sake, friend?”

Jim smiled back.

“Something like that.”

They both pulled back then, back to what could be called a ‘respectable’ distance. Another step in their dance.

Oswald did give Jim more information than he’d initially offered, but less than Jim really wanted. Deep down it was what they’d both expected, what they both knew was coming. Just as they both knew that no matter what either of them said, either to each other or to their respective allies, it wouldn’t be the last time they did this.

They may never have crossed the line, never got past considering it, but they kept stepping right up to it. Kept pulling each other in like gravity.

Two halves just barely skirting around becoming a whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Thanks for sticking with me on this - I do plan on doing something with the last day but I'll be posting that separately as I plan on upping the rating)


End file.
